I love this place. In spite of everything.
I walk through the plaza and head down the alley that leads to Jiugulou Dajie, Old Drum Tower Street, threading my way through bicycle rickshaws parked there for the night.
Maybe I will go to Yangshuo. Ask around at some of the backpacker hangs about Jason so I can tell Dog I gave it a shot, like a good buddy should do. Then spend the rest of my time floating down a river on a bamboo raft, drinking beer, which I gather is what you do in Yangshuo.
There’s no reason it has to get complicated.
CHAPTER SIX
EXCEPT THERE’S MY MOM.
It’s not like I want her to come with me. Part of the reason I need to get out of Beijing is that she’s kind of driving me crazy.
On the other hand, I’m not comfortable leaving her here on her own. She’s only got another three weeks on her visa, and she’s going to need to make a visa run, and I feel like I should be there to help her with that.
Or not. If she fucks up with the visa, then she’ll have to go home, right?
“Is that a good idea? Taking a vacation?”
We sit across from each other at my small table the next morning. I’m sucking down coffee and nibbling on spicy peanuts. She’s eating granola. (“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some?”)
I shrug. “Yeah, I think it’s okay. I mean, like John said, the thing with the cops was a mistake.”
“Well, I know he said that.”
She regards me with a level look, and I have to remind myself, even with all her crazy-ass Jesus shit and bad taste in men, she’s pretty shrewd.
“I’m just not sure. Is it really safe for you to be traveling around on your own like that?”
“Yeah, it’s totally safe,” I say. Which is normally true. China’s a great place for foreigners to travel, even foreign single women.
It’s just that my situation isn’t exactly normal.
“I’d feel a lot better if you were traveling with someone,” Mom says.
“Why don’t you come with me?” I blurt.
Oh, shit. Why did I say that?
Her eyes dart up and meet mine for a moment. Then she fiddles with her spoon and won’t exactly look at me.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you really want me to?”
No, I think, no fucking way.
“Sure,” I say. “It’ll be fun.”
MAYBE IT’LL BE OKAY, I tell myself. As long as she doesn’t get into the Jesus stuff, my mom really is okay to be around.
Except if I am in some kind of trouble, if things turn weird, do I want her involved in it?
It’ll be okay, I tell myself. If the DSD wants to talk to me again, fine. They don’t want to talk to my mom. I don’t think.
But how am I going to go out and look for Dog’s brother with my mom hanging around?
She’s not going to understand why I want to at least try to help Dog, to make an effort. She doesn’t know about any of it. About what I did in the war, about why me and Trey broke up-well, she knows about his Chinese girlfriend, which, when I’m being honest with myself, isn’t really why we split, but Lily makes a great excuse and something my mom can get mad about on my behalf, because before that all I ever heard about was how wonderful and awesome Trey was, which made telling her we were getting divorced even harder. Like he was always too good for me, but before, I could pretend that I was better than I was, because I’d somehow managed to end up with him.
Now she thinks he’s pretty much an asshole. Believe it or not, that helps.
I’ll figure it out. I can slip away while she’s doing something else, while she’s reading her latest serial-killer thriller.
Hey, I could even tell her the truth.
As used as I am to lying, it’s not the first option that comes to mind.
“ANDY SAYS HE CAN help us with the train tickets.”
I’m sitting on my bed with my laptop, having just sent off an email to Lucy Wu telling her that I don’t think I’m going to make her opening after all. Plus, there’s another email from this Vicky Huang person, the one who’s supposedly representing the Chinese billionaire art collector.
I shrug. “I can do it. It’s not a big deal.”
“Dear Ms. Huang,” I type. “At the present time, Zhang Jianli’s work is not for sale.”
“Well, I think he’d like to help.”
I look up. My mom stands there in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her belly, blushing slightly.
“The thing is… he’s never been to Yangshuo either, and he’d like to come. I said no, since this was just supposed to be the two of us, but then I thought maybe it would be good to have a man around, and a Chinese person, just in case.”
“We don’t need a man or a Chinese person to take a simple vacation.”
I guess I sound pretty pissed off, but you know, this is so fucking typical of her. Meeting some guy, deciding he’s awesome after about two dates, and inviting him along for all the family fun.
Next thing you know, he’ll be crashing on my couch.
“Well, he doesn’t have to come,” she says apologetically.
“Whatever,” I snap. “I mean, whatever you want.”
TWO DAYS LATER THE three of us are on a train from Beijing to Guilin, the jumping-off point for Yangshuo.
“Honey, I can take the top bunk, you don’t have to.”
“I like the top bunk,” I mutter. Which is half a lie. I like that the top bunk feels more private, but climbing up there with my leg is a pain.
“I like top one,” Andy says. “You can be on this more comfortable one.” He pats the cushion next to him.
“That’s okay. I mean, you guys want to be together, right?”
Okay, that didn’t sound very nice the way I said it, but it’s true. Andy and Mom have been giving each other the look all afternoon, and even though most Chinese don’t go for the big public display of affection, they’ve been holding hands on and off. And now they’re sitting next to each other on the lower berth, and he’s leaning over and whispering something in her ear.
What a fucking nightmare.
I think, I’ll just drink one big beer tonight so I can sleep, and then I won’t have to be climbing up and down to use the toilet. Not too many times anyway.
My mom giggles. Andy pats her hand.
And maybe I’ll take a Percocet, too.
IT’S NOT LIKE I care that she has sex. I mean, mothers have sex, right? Not exactly a news flash.
It’s just this guy, I tell myself. Mr. Anal Constriction.
And every other guy I ever saw her with. And a few I just heard about along the way. Starting with Bio-Dad, aka Drunk Daddy #1. Thanks for the genetic material, dude. That’s about all I can thank him for.
I’m lying on my bunk thinking about all this instead of sleeping, because the fourth passenger in our compartment, the guy on the upper berth across from me, is a middle-aged businessman from Hubei who snores like some kind of asthmatic seal-that is, when he isn’t awake and yakking on his cell phone.
You’d think she’d learn. And you’d think I’d stop being surprised.
Across from me, Mr. Asthmatic Seal has settled into sleep again, snorting like a backfiring car engine, providing a counterpoint to the rattle of the wheels on the tracks.
I pull the heavy quilt up around my ears and close my eyes. I always wonder, why a quilt when they almost always overheat the compartments?
Then, from the bunk below, I hear little pulses of breaths, somewhere between pants and coughs, in rhythm.
Do I want to know?
I peer over the edge of the bunk.
In the dim compartment I can just make out the silhouettes of my mom and Andy, sitting straight-backed on the lower berth across from mine, side by side like dolls on a shelf. Panting in unison.